MA was one of the people who went to that fabled private school of my youth. we didn't really know each other - we hung out in different circles, had no common "hobbies" that would have coordinated our trajectories, etc. he had 2 older brothers, which, in my mind, meant he must've inherited the benefits of their own personal struggles and realizations to some extent, even if that came mostly in the form of hand-me-down clothes (plus books, movies and music, i would suspect). at least that's how i explain my lasting impression of him being just a bit cooler than the rest of us.
he ran with the track team for a while when we were 8th graders. after a week, he quit coming to the practices. still, he gained my respect by running in black chuck taylor hi-tops and spitting a lot. i remember wondering if he was a smoker or something; he spit so much! it was funny - kind of anachronistic, like a 50's thing (especially with the chucks and buzzcut he was sporting at the time).
a year or two later, we would have a first period history class together. i came in one morning to find him with headphones on, listening to
the story of the clash on his walkman. i didn't know much about them at the time, but seeing that tape case on the desk (combined with seeing
another state of mind over the previous summer) somehow helped flip a switch in my brain. punk rock (via college radio) would enter my life shortly.
after i left the academy for the big public school on the westside, JMS would sometimes update me on what people were up to. he once mentioned that MA was in some kind of disciplinary trouble because he was growing facial hair
in direct opposition to the academy's dress code. that's about as rebellious as any of us were in those days.
a few years after that, while i was attending my first semester of college in san antonio, some friends hopped in my tiny car and we went up to austin for a pixie's concert (they were touring to support
trompe le monde at the time, although i was only familiar with
bossanova at that point). in the crush of ecstatic college students pressed together near the stage, MA and i unexpectedly bumped into each other.
"what are
you doing here?" he yelled in my ear, to which i could only yell back "seeing the fucking PIXIES, dude!!!" we both made the
fuck yeah face and turned our attention elsewhere.
many years later, an alumni newsletter from the academy (which still finds its way to my mom's mailbox to this very day, surprisingly) mentioned that MA had a degree in mathematics and was trying to make it as a writer in santa fe. having sucked so badly at math for most of my life (yet finding it very fascinating to read about, so long as i didn't have to demonstrate a talent for it), i was admittedly jealous of such an update. he still seemed just a little bit cooler than the rest of us.
not long after that, JMS told me that he had been shot and killed during a new year's celebration in austin, apparently the result of a gun being used to ring in the new year. he and his wife had just had a child, from what i remember. he had just turned 30. i couldn't think of anything more tragic, and the news weighed me down for a long time afterwards.
i don't know why i was recently compelled to google the names of people i knew from the academy who've died, but doing so returned a web page dedicated to MA's memory. next to a photo, his mother has written about the things she'll remember him by.
i can't deny that there was a time (not long after 9/11) that i thought i should have died rather than him. during that time, when that acrid, burnt smell permeated nyc for months and months, lasting deep into the winter, there were a lot of people i thought should still be alive instead of me. i don't necessarily feel that way anymore, but
MA remains somebody i wish we could have back.
